


For Better or For Worse

by elliots



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 17:29:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliots/pseuds/elliots
Summary: For six years, Elliot Stabler remains haunted by his past, living day to day, attempting to find solace in the mundane. When he finds himself trapped, blindfolded, and in the hands of psychopath that knows his entire professional history, he has to endure the torture, both mental and physical, inflicted upon him while attempting to communicate through a camcorder that sits mere feet from him. When the first tape of the kidnapping arrives at the desk of Amanda Rollins, the SVU team realizes that the former detective's life is a ticking time bomb.





	For Better or For Worse

He recollects in the time that he has to himself these days. His apartment is about as bland as his life unless it is occupied by a bumbling Eli, spilling glasses of orange juice, throwing toys around the living room or a talkative Kathleen in bright colored clothes.

_(Dickie and Liz are so busy, he hasn’t seen them in months. He keeps tabs on them through Facebook and it's something, at least. Maureen gets married and he flashes back to every terrible, horrible instance of a marriage that crumbled before his eyes in a small room with a table and a couple of chairs. He makes it through the service with only one tear escaping him and hugs her before she gets into a car. That was three years ago; she is pregnant now. Nothing solidified his age quite like that announcement.)_

Small pieces of moving color. Each time they leave, they shift and change a bit more. He is lucky that Eli is so young still, it’s a sense of stability that he has someone that needs him. Dickie and Liz are twenty-four. Twenty-four. He still can’t wrap his mind around it at times.

When Eli was born, it felt like another opportunity to right a wrong and fix all of the issues that he and Kathy had leading up to their separation. For the longest time they had discussed the biggest issue of their marriage being his dedication to his job. Maybe it was a scapegoat to hide the fact that people change. Once that rug was pulled out from under their feet and he retired, they couldn’t hide under the guise anymore. They tried for a good year and a half but eventually they divorced.

He doesn’t regret his marriage or trying to fix it. Kathy is an amazing woman and will always be the mother of his children and his first love, but they aren’t seventeen anymore.

He found it brutal at first, seeing her with someone else in a serious fashion. Not out of jealousy, but in a way that your heart aches for not being able to be what someone needs. Knowing that another man is going to get along with your children and see them just as much as you do. Knowing that your family is disjointed and broken, but having to accept happiness is much more attainable this way. It was brutal until he sees her laugh. Once he visually sees how happy she is, it isn’t a question at all. His name is Stephen, and after a plethora of background checks and subtle interrogation, he seems like an amiable man.

Kathy worries about him still. They have a good rapport and communicate about Eli on a regular basis but on the occasion she will throw in her name.

_(He hates how even her name makes his stomach twists into knots. If he’s drunk enough on a lonely night while the blaring of a sport he can’t get his eyes to focus on flashes like a rave party on the TV, he’ll pull out a picture of her he keeps behind his driver’s license in his wallet. Of them, actually. Back when Munch was on this camera kick, claiming it was important documentation. In the picture, she’s got a hand in her dark hair and sitting on the edge of his desk. He has an elbow on her knee, his head tilted up at her smiling face. Sometimes if he’s drunk enough and closes his eyes, he can almost transport himself to that moment. Almost is not an actuality, so instead he ends up falling asleep on his couch.)_

He stretches his arms over his head. The clock reads 7 a.m. and his muscle memory created internal clock screams at him that he has overslept. Even after all these years, it remains ingrained in him.

His mirror tells the tale of a scruffy old man with an ever receding hairline, his body tattered with scars and although he makes the effort to remain in physical shape, he avoids looking at his reflection.

He has dated one woman since his divorce with Kathy. Her name had been Julia and she owned a bakery beside the coffee shop he frequents. She was pretty and kindhearted, they hit it off after Eli begged him to buy him a cookie and he was a suckered into agreeing.

They dated for about eight months and it was pleasant but complacent. A common routine of sex and stay at home date nights but no natural progression in a serious nature. Perhaps that was on his end because by the last few weeks of their relationship, he could sense a tension in her figure and a near caustic tone in casual conversation.

“I just feel like you still aren’t ready for anything beyond what you had in your past marriage, Elliot. I’ve been married, it didn’t work out. But I don’t want to waste my time with a relationship that is going nowhere on your end. So give it to me straight; is this the real deal for you or not?” She had said one early Saturday morning.

He never saw her much after that, besides the occasional eye contact and forced smiles for politeness’ sake while getting coffee.

_(He remembers telling jokes to Julia, hoping that she would bite back. She would laugh instead with kind eyes and touch his cheek. He never wanted a quip so much in his entire life.)_

He throws on a t-shirt and some sweatpants. Padding his way into the kitchen, he grabs the water bottle from the counter and squints for the remote. The tv is roaring some morning talk show because he forgot to turn it off last night. He needs to make an appointment with an optometrist, he thinks to himself.

Once the TV is off, he throws on socks and sneakers. There is a gym in his apartment and it’s a blessing because he hates running outside. The fear of meeting the eyes of people he has failed eats at him a little more everyday.

_(Huang would have a field day with him now. He is the perfect specimen of a crumbling psyche.)_

He’s returned to work several times. Not to the New York Police Department, but he was contacted by the FBI and U.S Marine Corps. Nothing exceedingly strenuous as they have an ample amount of young, fresh eyed graduates at the ready, but his experience is an asset that is extremely desired.

_(It keeps him just far enough away from the victims to keep his sanity intact, but allows him to break the mold of otherwise stagnant existence. At least he is still doing something. Not as much as she is, but it’s something and it’s enough.)_

It’s quiet in the hallway. He finds himself concentrating on the squeak of his shoes against the waxed tile. It isn’t an elaborate building but manages to stay consistently clean. The gym is two floors down and he never bothers with the elevator. By the time it comes up to his floor, he can be in the gym starting up the treadmill.

_(No matter how long it has been he can’t shake a memory at the smallest detail. A rainy day, hair tied up, squeaking shoes against the precinct floor, soaked to the bone. “Hey, El, do you have an extra shirt in your locker? It just started to downpour while I was out for my run.” “Nice catch,” “This better be clean, I swear to god,” A cheeky grin, hair plastered to her face. “Cross my heart, hope to die,” “Yeah, yeah, sure,”)_

His throat feels tight for a split second before he snaps back to it. Something feels off as he looks around. It is a small gym, a few treadmills, weights, and machines but there is always one or two people occupying the space. Today, it’s utter emptiness and silence is prickling at his neck.

When something collides with shoulder, he instinctively springs into action. His hand clutches the arm and he swings it around twisting it. The attacker lets out a hissing sound at the pain but there is no distinct voice he can make out from the noise.

Suddenly there is something around his neck, a belt maybe, his focus losing a battle with the tingling sensation deriving from his shoulder. He clutches the material at his throat, clawing bits of his own skin in an attempt to open his airway. He can smell metal.

He twists his arm around, digging his nails into one of the hands behind him, but his strength and vision are leaving him. He tries to compile details in his head as he feels his knees give out.

_(There is a single thought before his consciousness washes away.)_

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any errors in that may lie in the text, it is not beta'd.


End file.
